


Twist.  1/1.

by punky_96



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Adultery, Cheating, Crossdressing, F/F, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Lesbian Sex, i tagged for het sex right?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 09:51:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14952386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punky_96/pseuds/punky_96
Summary: Re-post from LJ.Andrea and Miranda get together on a drunken night.  They are caught by Nate.  She puts herself in exile for a time.  When she returns to get some of her stuff at the apartment, she comes across Nate in her lingerie.  Bittersweet, it's over, sexy-times ensue--but they are a way to clearly say goodbye to Nate and for Andrea to know what she wants.Kink:  crossdressingNote:  this is not a nice fic





	Twist.  1/1.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: Pdt_bear
> 
> Base for this fic was a Grey's Anatomy fic for Addison/Meredith, which can be found on Dreamwidth by la_scapigliata: https://la-scapigliata.dreamwidth.org/11419.html
> 
> I was fascinated by this fic. Fascinated by the second person POV. Fascinated by the push pull in the original pairing and how that could work with M/A/N. I needed a way to play with the cross-dressing as erotic focus for the KB challenge. As a challenge to imitate the fic, the POV, and use the crossdressing, I think it worked out okay.

**_Twist_**  
  
The line between what was best for you and what was best for someone you cared about were constantly blurred.  You called it renegotiation.  It was best for you to take that job at Runway.  It was best for you to miss Nate’s birthday.  It was best for him that you were the attentive girlfriend.  You tried.  Oh god, how you tried!  You seduced him with designer lingerie when all else failed.  You ate grilled cheese sandwiches over and over because you said one time that you liked them and he made that the food to symbolize his love for you.  So, you choked them down.  (True it was a good grilled cheese, but so was the one at the diner down the street from Runway.)  
  
You wanted to please everyone and you got lost in the doing and the being—forgetting all else and the consequences.  You would never have set out to dash Emily’s hopes, derail your relationship, sleep with Christian Thompson, and try again with Nate, only to pursue Miranda.  Oh god.  Her rage is so quiet that there are no words.  When you were younger, you feared the darkness.  Now you would gladly lie in the dark bed and welcome any monsters from the corners, under the bed or from the deepest reaches of the closet.  
  
Now you fear the silence.  Silence in the dark.  Silence in broad daylight.  Silence in the eyes.  Silence in a crowded room lurking under the random chatter like a jaguar in the vines waiting to jump for your jugular.  
  
***  
  
If you could trace back to the moment where it all began to fall apart…  Not that it would change anything, but it would be nice to know when the ruin or rapture comes—just how it started.  You would like to know the precise moment that you turned onto the path that led to the path that became this path.  You never intended to walk on this path.  
  
You knew you shouldn’t have brought her that drink.  Closing your eyes, you are certain.  But what could one drink do?  Perhaps the first drink was ok, but the fifth was what did you in?  Or maybe the drinking was okay, but getting into the car was not?  Roy was only dropping you off.  Surely that wasn’t harmful?  
  
Asking Miranda upstairs.  Now that was the moment.  Or maybe it was the moment you made eye contact and with a certain smirk she turned and told Roy to go home.  Yes.  That had to have been it.  
  
Part of you wanted to blame Nate for going out of town.  
  
But you’re not sure if it would matter in the end.  
  
Part of you knew it was just a matter of time.  
  
It was your fault.  You asked her upstairs.  You looked at her that way.  
  
When conversation ran out and the only alcohol you had was a bottle of tequila you shrugged, “I don’t know what to say now.”  Your eyes met hers.  
  
“So don’t talk.”  Miranda said her hand tangling in your hair and her lips pressed hard against yours.  Her hand was feverish on your hip and her tongue a fire alarm to your senses inside your mouth.  
  
That was all her fault.  
  
You kissed back and hung onto her like a lifeline in the ocean—mutually at fault at that point.  
  
Lips were wet, tongues were hot, murmured names were like sonic sensual-grams from your ears to your pussies.  She cupped your ass.  Your thumb brushed her hardened nipple over her dress.  She moaned.  You threw your head back in desire.  She bit your neck and sucked your necklace into her mouth.  You unzipped her dress and dragged it down her shoulders.  
  
You stumbled together out of your gowns on the floor and your heels.  You unclasped the front of her bra and sucked a rosy nipple into your hungry mouth.  She fell back onto the couch with a surprised, “oomph” and looked up at you with a wildfire of desire burning behind her eyes.  
  
Trying to assign blame at that point was like a tennis match on fast forward.  Her hungry look pinning you on our own desire—her fault.  You kneeling down between her legs—your fault.  Your hands on the hips of her panties as you lowered them—your fault.  Her hips rolled up to help you—her fault.  Moaning your name as you leaned forward to lick her sex—her fault.  The taste of her on your tongue ruined it for any other lover except for her—her fault.  Her come shining on your face as you took in the beautiful picture of her open and wanting—your fault.  
  
The blame landed on her when she commanded.  “Stand.”  She scooted forward looking up into your eyes.  You felt her hands on your hips, thumbs hooked in your panties pulling them down, but you could not look away.  
  
Her hands on your hips as she pulled you into her lap one leg on each side of hers—clearly her fault.  Your exquisite joy to be panting over her in nothing but your bra as her fingers fumbled on your sex—entirely your fault.  Your hips lowering over her sliding fingers as you felt the smooth press of her inside—all her fault.  
  
Head thrown back you said her name to the heavens.  You thought in that moment that if she was not a witch, then she definitely was a goddess.  Your body shuddered over and over as you rode out your release on her hand.  She encouraged you with her thumb on your clit and the soft repetition of your name.  You tilted your head forward intending to lock eyes with Miranda and saw Nate in the open doorway.  You clutched forward onto her wrapping your arms around her and smothering her face with your flushed lace-clad bosom.  
  
Nate shook his head and backed out of the door slamming it loudly as he went.  
  
Her body stiffened, rigid in your arms.  You held her tighter fighting off certain doom.  


The blame landed squarely at your feet bringing with it an army of tears, a cavalry of guilt, the fire of a dragon, and the hurt of a delicate peasant.  
  
***  
  
Self-exile to Nigel’s couch had seemed appropriate.  The prison of your silence crushed in around you like the walls of solitary confinement.  The silence ate at you like tiny mice in the night.  You were the favorite piece of cheese.  Nate did not respond to your message, but you know he got it because you went by the apartment building and saw him in the window.  Miranda’s silence thrummed through your veins on your pulse.  The phone calls were all from Emily.  Your banishment was to the unfashionable dark basement of the Elias-Clark building.  Your job was to find every reference to Coco Chanel in Runway since its inception—letters from the editor, interviews, photographers, designer comments, and articles.  The only air you had been allowed were errands that sent you farther and farther from the object of your fractured desire.  
  
Nigel was as comforting as he could be without stopping being Nigel and without all the facts.  “It’s time for a promotion.”  He said as he poured you a drink on the fourth night.  Your jaw dropped as you looked at him.  You couldn’t imagine what he was talking about.  “Your personal life is shit.  Your professional life is shit.  It’s time for a promotion.”  He looked at you until you remembered when he had basically told you that what seemed like ages ago.  Shaking your head, you thought you were lucky to not be fired.  Yet.  You wondered if this was what a rabbit felt when it was cornered and its heart was ready to hammer out of its chest.  You wondered if Miranda wanted you to feel like that which was the only reason you hadn’t been fired.  
  
Nigel hadn’t asked much and you hadn’t told much.  You had been unable to tell him about Miranda and so how could you tell him about Nate.  You had to say something.  So, you said you had too much to drink that night.  You said you fell into the arms of another.  You didn’t say woman, ‘another woman.’  You didn’t say Miranda, ‘the other woman was Miranda.’  
  
Sleep evaded you from that night forward.  Haunted by the feel of Miranda’s skin, the hurt in Nate’s eyes, and the horrible situation you fell into between the two.  Unable to speak your truth—the silence swallowed you and you sat sick in its stomach waiting.  
  
The words would come—you knew they would.  You planned to cling to them like a life raft.  
  
***  
  
You were summoned one evening—not part of work, but not personal.  You entered with no small amount of fear and anxiety.  Miranda heard the door and called you into the study.  On unsteady legs you approached the dragon.  
  
“I am furious with you on many levels.”  You stared at her wide-eyed.  This was the first she had spoken to you since that night.  “I need to be perfectly clear.  For myself and for you.”  Miranda paused looking at you with a mixture of fury and compassion.  “That was a drunken night.”  You gulped then swallowed your stomach back down into your body.  “That is not to say it was a mistake on my part.”  She spoke slowly firing each word at you like a bullet.  “Cheating is not an option.”  Her blue eyes fixed on you suddenly flashing like the edge of the axe coming down on your head.  “I will not discuss anything with you until you have made a definite decision.”  You started to speak.  She held her hand up silencing you.  “No, no.  You need to think, Andrea, not speak.  That’s all.”  She turned her back to you and ended the conversation.  
  
You let yourself out the way you came.  On the subway you realized that it was time for the book to be delivered.  Miranda had taken a great personal risk to reach out to you despite her anger.  You lay on Nigel’s couch with a cushion over your head, but sleep did not console you.  
  
***  
  
“I’m coming over this evening.  I’m out of clothes.”  You texted him.  You weren’t sure if you wanted him to be at the apartment or not.  You had chosen him.  You were making it work after Paris, after Christian and despite Runway and Miranda.  
  
Like a desperate survivor holding onto the rocks you tried to hold in place with him against the crashing surf.  You chose him over and over despite the constant waves pulling you away.  The tide had changed though and the pounding of the surf was relentless.  You looked at the key in your hand as it slid into the lock.  You thought that the rocks were not where you remembered them and you didn’t remember when they changed because you had not noticed.  You sighed and opened the door.  
  
You gasped.  
  
Nate was facing the mirror with his back to you.  You knew he saw you, but he did not turn.  Instead he ran his hands down the straps of your purple teddy, across his chest and down his sides to the bottom edge of silk.  He turned slightly looking in the mirror at his legs.  Unbidden your eyes followed his motions and you saw he had slipped on thigh high stockings complete with garter belts.  
  
You knew you should be shocked.  Instead you wondered how tall he would be in your Manolos and how hot his calves would look.  You didn’t want to but your eyes were obsessed.  You saw that his skin tone and shaggy brown hair went well with the purple—it brought out the gleam of his eyes.  He turned to face you.  
  
You realized that your boyfriend who hated fashion was jealous of Miranda.  He was supposedly a rough manly man and yet here he was tangled up in feminine lace and lust.  “Why?”  You asked him.  
  
“I wanted to know what the fuss was about.”  He adjusted himself and looked at you sheepishly.  “I like it.”  He shrugged and gave a shy smile.  
  
You stepped to him.  You ran your hands over his cheeks, down over his shoulders, and along the rough texture of the lace.  Touch reminded your heart of what was.  He reached for you and you stepped back.  He protested, but the gleam in your eye gave him pause.  You quickly toed off your heels and reached your hands under your skirt to remove your own blue panties.  Stepping out of them you kissed him hard on the mouth as you pushed him backwards to the bed.  You slapped his legs urging him on his back onto the center.  
  
You bent his knees up and kneeled between his legs.  He was hard and breathing harder as he looked up at you through half-lidded eyes.  Closing your eyes, you ran your hands up and down his stocking clad legs reveling in the difference that it made.  You lowered his legs flat to the bed and maneuvered to straddle over him.  He slid into you with no trouble—at once familiar and different.  Your skirt covered your sex and his so that you did not see his flesh as you expected.  Instead you saw the black of your skirt where it met the purple of your silk teddy.  It was not unlike a dream you once had where you were yourself and your lover and the steady throb of a vibrator buzzed between your two selves.  His hands on your hips broke that brief memory and you lowered yourself against the length of his body.  Your lips pressed hard, unfriendly against his.  This tore a moan from him.  You sat up and looked into his eyes a moment.  His eyes asked you the same questions you had been trying to answer since that night.  Questions that you have asked yourself.  That both of them have asked you in their own way since that drunken night and your self-banishment.  You still had no answers for him, but this moment felt right.  
  
You leaned back and changed the angle of your bodies.  He moaned again under you and you placed your hands on the satin of his chest.  You were nearly fully clothed.  Your nipples begged for freedom and ached to be touched.  He thrust up and you slammed hard down onto him trying to hasten this along.  Every thrust of your body tried to add exclamation points to the question marks.  You looked at the silk in your hands over his hairy chest and you felt Miranda’s hot breath and wet tongue on your nipples.  It was not pretty and it was not sweet.  
  
There was nothing left of what you once were and the strange turn on of this encounter sealed it in your mind.  The answers clicked very clearly in your mind as you panted over the top of him.  “You like it, huh?”  You asked him in a cold voice.  He nodded and licked his lips under you.  Then he stilled and his hands were heavy on your hips.  He knew the verdict had come back.  He knew that even though he had tried and found a way to like fashionista!You (maybe even a way to love fashion).  It was not enough for you anymore.  He could not live up to the ice blue perfection that he knew Miranda had given you a glimpse of.  He knew he could not compete with the image he would never get out of his brain of you facing him freshly fucked on the lap of a silver haired devil.  Your face flushed with pleasure, hair messed up and strands sticking out like you were electric.  Your eyes locked on him in a kind of sick pleasure as you rode her desire and locked him out all in one moment.  
  
“I like it too.”  You started as you touched the satin of his chest once more.  “But I’ve changed, Nate.  I can’t go back anymore.”  You both sighed and gently disengaged from each other.  “I’ll come by Thursday to get the rest of my stuff.  I know that’s your late night.  I’ll contact Doug so he can be here and take my key.”  
  
Nate nodded.  He was beautiful in the lingerie and with his heart in his throat.  You turned into the closet and grabbed clothes blindly before scooping various undergarments out of the drawer into a plastic shopping bag.  It was silent as you both held your breath waiting to rise to the surface once again.  At the door you looked at him with an awkward smile, “Thanks, Nate.  It was…”  Your hand went into the air in a vague gesture.  There was no word for this, for what this was, or wasn’t.    
  
He stood next to you at the door and you caressed his cheek with your open palm.  “You can keep those if you want to.”  Then you slipped out the door not even pausing to pick up your discarded blue panties.  
  
***  
  
Halfway down the stairwell you stopped, hugging the clothes to you and trying to breathe.  The silence crashed over your head and your heart pumped over time so that you didn’t drown.  It was an unfamiliar shore and when you washed up at last at Nigel’s apartment, you broke into a million pieces.  
  
The hours ticked by until dawn.  Nigel never came home leaving you in isolation.  
  
You looked into the mirror and saw the demons of the night that you had wrestled with.  
  
You smiled because whatever the cost—you had won.  You found what was right for you.  You found the line of what was best for you, for him, for her.  You found a path out of the wilderness that you had lost yourself in.  With certain steps you readied yourself for the future and picked up your phone.  
  
“Miranda?”  
  


**The End**

**…**


End file.
